


Heatwave

by TheHuggamugCafe



Series: Weather Forecast [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dirty Talk, F/M, Joker!Akira, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Spanking, noblewoman!Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: Many people would love to live your life; high-class, privileged, worry-free.How wrong they are; how misinformed people can be.Many people don’t know how much you detest your life.Your parents place you on a golden pedestal, trying to convince you to be engaged to a man you don’t love.Your carefully selected friends merely dance to your family’s whims.No one wishes to see your rebellious fire burn hotter; they would rather see it doused out.Except…For him.The one who visits you in secret each and every night.He wishes to not only see it burn brightly…But he desires to be the one to help fan those defiant flames.





	Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Krisaliachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krisaliachan/gifts), [freebird97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freebird97/gifts).
  * Inspired by [On Fire’s Wind: the Untold Stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15994718) by [freebird97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freebird97/pseuds/freebird97). 



Five fingers. A single palm. The feeling of leather.

That was what you felt skimming across the smooth skin of your back, bare and displayed to a lecherous leer. The contrast between the smooth leather and your back was palpable, easily distinguishable in the resting chambers that was your personal bedroom on your uncle’s lavish estate.

The temperature in your room was _stifling_ , and it was incredibly hard _not_ to notice the hellish heat of summer.

It was obvious in the beads of moisture that rolled down your shoulders, your neck, and your bare back.

It was noticeable in the way perspiration dripped down your sweating crown; it was clear in how your hair stuck to your cheeks, sweating and burning with a bright hue of red.

However…

Soon, there was another sensation that danced across the nude expanse of your back.

A pair of lips left warm, open-mouthed kisses as they trailed a path up your skin, never pausing for a moment, or never seeming to mind the touch of salt that graced the owner’s mouth.

You sucked in a breath through your mouth, your back and shoulders rising—and falling—with the motion as a hot exhale hit the nape of your neck. A warm and breathy laugh hit your hot, shivering skin as a set of gloved palms, and a pair of leather-covered fingers, trailed to gently grip your barely clothed hips.

“I saw that, you know.”

You didn’t reply. You _couldn’t_ reply. All you could do was grip the high-quality bedsheets you sat on in tight, white-knuckled fists, breathing a sharp little gasp as trouser-covered hips slowly, carefully thrusted against the swell of your bottom.

The warm puff of air that ghosted against the perspiring skin of your neck signalled that _he_ had laughed; your suspicions were confirmed as he was quick to pepper your throat with several soft, brief kisses.

“There was so much quiet flirting going on between you and him… I didn’t like that, Treasure.”

Silence struck you as Akira polished off his display of affection with a short, but sharp suck to your neck, lathering the love-bite that quickly bloomed to life on your throat with his tongue.

Finally, _finally_ , at long last, you managed to find your voice.

You paused to swallow a gulp, one that you swore was the size of a tennis ball. You felt it slithering down your esophagus, down to your stomach, where it flip-flopped in a ball of pure restlessness.

“I wasn’t flirting with him.”

It was true. You honestly, truthfully didn’t even _try_ flirting with the latest suitor your father had roped you into agreeing to see.

To you, he was just another man greedily eyeing the wealth your family had allocated throughout the years, started by your great-grandfather. Having been an entrepreneur, and a very successful one at that, it was no surprise that your family—having once been dirt poor, just barely able to scrape by—continued to amass wealth, even after your great-grandfather had died.

Your uncle oversaw and was connected to several well-known establishments.

Your father managed several businesses, and was in the process of teaching his young male relatives how to manage their own businesses.

However…

Your grandfather had been the most recent genius in your family, having pulled several establishments—that were on the verge of declaring bankruptcy—from the ground up, rebuilding them with his father’s personal funds, and making them better than they had ever been.

He had even helped struggling business owners by giving them tips, how to save money, how to predict a competitive business’s moves, and how to never worry about such a thing as debt ever again.

It had been a few years since your grandfather had passed away, but those he helped always spoke fondly of him. They had promised him to honour his memory by ensuring that what he had taught them—solely out of the kindness in his heart—wouldn’t go to waste, that his memory would remain untarnished.

Your grandfather’s little empire of businesses, businesses that were run by entrepreneurs much like himself, and the good-will he had shown his young apprentices, would be preserved through the years.

Your mother was only a noblewoman by marriage, but her family was just as wealthy and influential as your father’s family was; she _did_ hail from a family of merchants, after all.

The proof of their marriage was on their ring fingers, encrusted with diamonds.

The proof of their marriage surrounded them on four walls, above them and below them.

The proof of their marriage showed in the family’s estate, in the extravagant paintings that hung on the walls, in the maids and butlers they employed to cater to your needs, and in the vault that stored untold amounts of gold, jewels, and the rest of your family’s fortune.

The proof of their marriage showed in your mother’s expensive dresses, the shawls that draped her shoulders, and it certainly showed in your father’s high-quality, tailored suits and leather shoes.

The proof of their marriage shone best in _you_.

You were simply nothing more than a mere byproduct of your parents’ marital union.

Or so you believed.

“ _You’ll marry a nice young man someday.”_

“ _You will carry our family to heights we could only dream of.”_

“ _The future will be placed upon you, sweetheart. I know you won’t disappoint us.”_

That was something your mother had drilled into you at a young age, barely old enough to walk or talk, much less understand the full weight of the burden that had been placed upon your shoulders.

You were far too young to comprehend the fact that the path your life would take was decided for you, every step of the way.

How you would talk and how you would walk as you matured.

How you dressed and who your friends would be.

How you ate and drank; your hobbies and interests were picked with the utmost care.

None of it felt real; none of it came off as being genuine.

It was all done without your say-so.

No one gave so much as a simple thought or an iota of caring what you had to say, or asked how you felt about the stifling routine you were forced to stick to, the strict day-to-day affairs that had been forcibly hoisted on you.

It sickened you as much as it bored you.

To have everything, _everything_ , about your life to be decided for you.

The loneliness you felt…

The isolation that surrounded you…

The fake smiles that curled your lips…

The empty laughter that left you as you chuckled at something a family member, a friend, or a visitor had said…

The stiff and sore feeling of your back as you sat exactly as you’d been taught to sit, straight and with your gloved hands folded in your lap, cushioned seat cradling your bottom as you stared blankly…

To be merely an observer, an unwilling participant in a cordial get-together with your family and another, listening halfheartedly as your family discussed yet _another_ arranged meeting with a man.

A suitor.

Yet another man seeking for your hand in marriage.

Another groomed, well-bred man hoping to have you as his wife.

 _Another_ vulture seeking to dive into your family’s vast wealth.

You hated the life you lived.

You detested it.

You _loathed_ it with every burning fibre of your body.

Even something as mundane as your future husband was decided upon by your parents, ignoring you, and putting your thoughts and feelings aside.

“ _You must always be a prim and proper lady.”_

“ _A man is easier to rope in if you pay him the slightest bit of attention.”_

“ _How do you think I managed to lure your father in?”_

If your mother expected you to be a harlot, a few steps of becoming a _slut_ for a man’s attention, never mind a man that did not interest you in the slightest…

She was sorely mistaken.

A part of you couldn’t help but despise your mother.

As much as you loved her, as much as you cared for her well-being…

You often found yourself wondering how much of her love for your father was actually pure and honest.

_What does she love more? My father or his money?_

In truth, your father was no more supportive in your silent suffering than your mother was.

“ _Someday, when you have children of your own… You’ll understand.”_

“ _Life comes later, dear.”_

“ _For now… Focus on your duties; focus on honouring the family name.”_

Truly, you honestly and sincerely _hated_ your life.

A cage was a cage, no matter how comfortable, how lavish it was.

You felt like a prisoner.

A prisoner locked away in a cell of silk and lace; a cell that was your very own resting chambers.

An inmate trapped in an estate that was reminiscent of an expensive dollhouse, a dollhouse filled with trinkets the likes of which the common folk could only _dream_ of possessing.

You wanted freedom.

The freedom to live your life as you wished, without having to abide by strict familial regulations.

The freedom to decide what you wanted for once, _just once_ , in your adulthood.

It was just within reach of your outstretched hands, but always out of your grasp.

Freedom.

Freedom.

_Freedom._

_**Freedom.** _

So as far as you were concerned, it was no surprise that you rebelled the only way you knew how.

“ _Mother… Please cancel the upcoming meeting. I have heard the most atrocious rumours about him…”_

“ _I have no interest in a man who has had several relationships. Goodness knows what he’s done.”_

“ _He isn’t my type.”_

“ _I apologize, Father, but I’m feeling unwell. Perhaps we can reschedule next week?”_

Any excuse that was available to you, you used it.

Any excuse to get out of _another_ meeting with _another_ suitor, a man who may as well be a bird of prey to you, you took the opportunity to spin a tale of sugarcoated white lies to your parents.

After all…

As the only daughter of a wealthy family, who would stop to think that you had ulterior motives when it came to such a thing as finding a future husband?

As the sole heiress of your family’s fortune, who would believe you saw the prospect of having a fiancé the same as being trapped in an arranged marriage,  _and_ an arranged marriage you never wanted _nor_ asked for at that?

As it turned out, life would get _very_ interesting for you in the weeks leading up to your twenty-first birthday.

You heard the extravagant tales of _his_ nocturnal escapades.

There was never a day when his latest heist wasn’t splashed on the front-page headlines.

You often found yourself listening as a few of your so-called _“friends”_ sneered at him exploiting the rich, and yet they couldn’t fully conceal their ill-disguised excitement.

A _phantom thief_.

A _phantom thief_ stealing from the rich, and even from the monarchy.

And…

More importantly… Above everything else…

This _phantom thief_ had been eyeing not only your family, but especially _you_ quite intently for a while.

The very same phantom thief who straddled your hips, rolling his clothed hips—and his raging hard-on, a detail he made sure you knew of—into the swell of your ass.

Except for your underwear, you were as bare as the day you were born.

It was just as well, and the lack of clothing didn’t bother you; the summer heat was unbearable on this particular evening, so your state of undress wasn’t a concern.

Your nightgown would have stuck to you like a second skin if you had been wearing it, but it had long since been removed from you, draping over the end of your bed.

Your teeth worried the flesh of your lower lip, brows lightly pinching the slant of your eyes as your fingers clutched the high-quality sheets you and the masked holdup artist sat upon.

A part of you couldn’t help but wonder just _what_ your parents would think of the situation you were in now, if they just so happened to stumble into your bedroom?

Oh, you could only _imagine_ the scandalous expressions they’d have, and how they’d react, but…

Surprisingly, a larger part of you couldn’t be bothered to care—to _truly_ care, or to give a damn—about what your parents thought of your choices at the moment.

All you could think about was the sensation of hips rocking into your barely clothed bottom stopping.

All you could think about was a gloved hand trailing its way up your spine, shuddering as a pair of warm lips followed the path the leather-covered fingers had traced up your back.

A tingling feeling shook you, making you tremble from head to toe as a low chuckle was breathed into your ear.

“Lovely, just lovely.”

His breath tickled the skin of your throat, and you swallowed a gulp as the sudden—but soft—gust of air disturbed a few beads of perspiration, causing them to roll down your shoulders.

“It’s such a shame that that suitor will never know you the way I know you, isn’t it?”

Your neck was showered in kisses as the thief hissed softly in your ear, breathing a laugh as you shuddered as an exhale briefly cooled your sweating skin.

“He’ll never get to touch you the way I touch you.”

The smooth leather that touched your hip, the feeling of a leather-covered palm holding a smooth, pleasingly round breast; the glove’s red fabric contrasted with your skin and yet, strangely, complimented it.

The difference between the crimson glove and your nude flesh was obvious, unmistakable. You breathed a quiet little gasp as a taut nipple was rolled between fingers covered by a leather glove, a leather glove that was a soothing shade of red.

“He’ll never get to kiss you the way I kiss you.”

The enchanting flurry of kisses that peppered your skin didn’t let up, never slowed for even a moment. The masked thief soon introduced his tongue and teeth, and you could almost _feel_ love-bites blossoming on your skin; the mild sore feeling was massaged by the slow and wet flicks of his tongue slowly, carefully marking a path to your earlobe.

The show of affection was polished off by the sensation of teeth gently holding, lightly pinching your earlobe, breathing a snicker into your ear as a shudder shook your hot, shivering form.

“He’ll never get to fuck you the way I fuck you.”

_Smack!_

You exhaled a sharp gasp as a sudden strike was given to a barely clothed ass cheek; your fingers instinctively clutched at the expensive sheets in tight, white-knuckled fists.

Hot moisture pricked at the corners of your eyes as a stinging sensation crawled across the ass cheek the masked burglar just struck with a gloved palm, and leather-covered fingers, and yet… And yet…

Heat gathered in your core before trickling down to your panties, gathering in the crotch in a wet puddle.

“J-Joker.”

His codename spluttered past your lips before you could think, before you could think to stop yourself from allowing it to roll off of your tongue.

A breathy laugh tickled your throat and a warm exhale ghosted over your bare shoulder as a gloved palm—aided by five leather-covered fingers—carefully descended upon your aching skin, gently smoothing it over with a slow, stroking motion.

It continued to throb, continued to sting for a few moments, but finally, you adjusted to it. Soon, you relished in being unable to distinguish the difference between the thief’s leather-covered hand soothing your sore cheek, and the way the smooth glove travelled over your skin.

“Perhaps…”

A tiny moan was pulled from you as the hand slowly moved from your butt to your hip, leather-covered fingers idly toying with the thin cotton barrier that protected your leaking sex from his touch, from his mouth, and from his masked leer.

“You are in need of a reminder of who it is that has claimed you as his, hm, Treasure?”


End file.
